


promise me a place (in your house of memories)

by Grigori_girl



Category: Open Heart (Visual Novel)
Genre: A Lot Of Feelings Set To The Tune Of Won’t Say I’m In Love, F/M, Forehead Kisses, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigori_girl/pseuds/Grigori_girl
Summary: She makes a soft, pathetic noise in the back of her throat as he kisses the apple of one cheek, whispers, “I won’t push you away again.” He kisses the other, her eyelashes tickling his lips. “I don’t regret anything about us.”His nose nudges hers, lips brushing lips.She opens her eyes, meets his gaze.“I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”





	promise me a place (in your house of memories)

**Author's Note:**

> oof this baby was waaaaaay bigger than I initially expected but here we are: just a little re-write of the legendary Ethan Ramsey 30 diamond scene.
> 
> Patch notes:  
> \- narratively coherent  
> \- smut now 30% spicier  
> \- emotional exploration 
> 
> and, of course, Open Heart (and a decent chunk of this dialogue) belongs to Pixleberry (pls don’t pull an Anne Rice I’m just a poor college kid)

The country club smelled like nepotism and money, and even though Harper fit in just fine thanks to the ensemble of borrowed clothes, she still feels her skin crawl long after she leaves. Rich people were never Harper’s forte, especially in their natural habitat, and she hates the stares she garners on the subway.

Ethan’s neighborhood, however, is a different story.

She’s actually pretty sure she saw a woman wearing the same outfit as she walked a miniature dog. _Go figure._ She presses the button next to his name, tugs at the knot in the cardigan draped over her shoulders. It’s nowhere near her neck, but she can’t help but feel choked by it. The locks in the door snap as they unlatch, an electric buzz following her into the building as she takes the elevator almost to the top floor. Her knuckles rap against the door, and it swings open almost immediately, though Ethan turns and leaves her to let herself in.

He glances back at her as she shuts the door, bracing her hand against it as she toes off her shoes. “Did you join a cult?”

She snorts a laugh and turns, arms held out, letting him get the full view of her outfit. “A country club.”

“Same thing.” He says flatly, his stubble longer than usual, the bags beneath his eyes pronounced. There’s a moment of silence—deafening, tense silence, so totally unlike their usual dynamic that it makes her skin itch.

She tugs at the ostentatious cardigan draped over her shoulders, feeling like a tool the longer she keeps it on. “So,” She starts haltingly, turning to hang the cardigan on his coat rack, if only to give her hands something to do. “Have you heard from Naveen?”

“All I know is that he isn’t dead.”

“How?”

“Harper would tell me.” He shrugs, turning to his kitchen. Despite all this time working at Edenbrook, it’s still weird to share her name with the chief of medicine, with a woman so skilled.

Even weirder to share a name with Ethan’s ex-girlfriend.

Still, she pushes the thought away and follows him to the kitchen, her fingers fumbling at the clasp of the stupid, gaudy fake-pearl necklace that Sienna lent her. It clatters against the counter, too-loud in the quiet, and the metal clasps tinkle against glass as Ethan sets a half-empty bottle of scotch and two glasses before her. She sketches a brow, tilts the bottle back by the neck to read the label. “Looks expensive. You sure you want to share?”

“It sounds like you need one.” He slips the bottle from her grasp, his fingers brushing hers, and maybe she hates herself a little for the way it makes goosebumps race down her spine. “I heard your preliminary hearing didn’t go too well.”

And just like that, whatever spark or notion of feelings that she might’ve spared a thought for vanished, her throat closing as she thinks about how many people in the hospital are rooting for her to fail. About Landry, who she’d _thought_ was her friend. About Mrs. Martinez, who’s death she couldn’t quit blaming herself for.

Harper swallows thickly as Ethan raises a brow, the lip of the bottle hovering over the empty glass he’d pulled out for her. She sighs. “Gimme that.”

He grins, the closest thing to happiness she’s seen from him in weeks, pours the scotch. “That’s what I thought.” He slides the glass to her awaiting hand, and offers his own up into a toast. She raises a skeptical brow, suspicious at the smile he still wore. “To early retirement...likely for the both of us.”

She rolls her eyes, but still clinks her glass against his, drinking deeply. It burns the whole way down, but at least whatever dregs of self-pity got washed away with it. She rolls the glass back and forth between her palms, chews on her lip. “So you already knew about the hearing?”

“Obviously.”

Usually, his cool, unaffected attitude doesn’t bother her—in fact, it usually serves to balance her, makes that skittering energy in her bones settle—but right now it grates against her nerves. She taps a nail against the countertop, purses her lips. “Then why the hell haven’t I heard from you?” She meets his gaze, forces herself not to flinch at the new, strange shadow that’s settled there ever since he quit. Still, she can’t keep the doubt from creeping into her voice as she says, “Have you already written me off as a lost cause?”

The shadow recedes, if only slightly, his brows drawing low as the lines of his face softening in something akin to guilt. He sets his glass down. “Of course I haven’t…”

His sympathy, his guilt—as if _her_ failings were _his_ doing—it makes the alcohol in her stomach curdle, anger rising in her chest like a reflux. Between this and Landry and Naveen and all the pent up frustration from being unable to just do her damn _job..._ she grits her teeth, a muscle in her jaw fluttering. “But you couldn’t be bothered to reach out? Not even a text?”

Despite her anger, anger that she _knows_ he can see, he remains nonplussed, sipping casually at his drink. “I told you, Jackson. I hate texting.”

That...that makes her draw short. He never calls her by her last name, at least not without ‘doctor’ attached to it. The detachment feels like ice. “Jackson? Not ‘Rookie’?” Hard to imagine that she’d once resented the nickname. “Why are you being so cold?”

Ethan takes another drink, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and he looks away.

Her anger warms her bones, ignites the alcohol. Part of her wonders if she’s needlessly taking her issues out on him, but a larger part of her doesn’t give a damn. He’s been dragging her along his emotional rollercoaster for months now, has pushed her away only to draw her back in whenever it convenienced him, and _now_ , of all times, he wants to officially pull the plug on whatever their relationship was? Over her dead body.

“You _know_ I’m a good doctor!” She all but shouts, taking pleasure in the way his eyes widen, his grip on his glass tightening. “You _know_ you could help me.” That raging, dark little part of her wants to rub in that he couldn’t help Naveen, that he’d _failed,_ just as she had, but...she couldn’t be cruel, no matter how angry and hurt she was. Especially when, deep down, beneath the flames of her ire, she knew she wasn’t half as angry at him as she was at herself.

Still, when that same guilt-stricken look falls over his face, when he refuses to _look_ at her, as if doing so would only hurt him, that little voice needles at her to poke the beast, to try to spur him into something other than this pity party he’s been throwing himself. “I can’t.” His voice cracks, and where the emotion would usually draw up sympathy from the well in her heart, all it does is send the bucket clattering to the empty bottom.

Harper Jackson became a doctor not for fame or glory or money, but because she had the brains and the heart to do so, and to do it well. She was a firm believer that, if you couldn’t spare a moment to empathize with your patients, then healthcare wasn’t the field for you.

However, she was also a firm believer that even the kindest of people could only empathize so far, could only forgive so much betrayal and heartbreak and persecution before that empathy runs dry.

This is that moment.

“What _happened_ to you?” She all but snarls, hands smacking against the granite counter. “I came to Edenbrook to learn from _the_ Ethan Ramsey. I came to Edenbrook because _you_ chose me to be here.”

His glass hits the counter so hard she’s surprised it doesn’t shatter, his face close enough she can feel his breath on hers, see the anger as it bubbles under the surface. “This _is_ The Ethan Ramsey.” There’s such loathing in his voice, such self-hatred that her anger flickers, just for a moment. He straightens, flings his arms out as he seethes. “The man who can save anyone except the people he gives a damn about. Not Dolores. Not Naveen. And not you.”

Harper’s heart stumbles in her chest, at the implication, the poor fool trying to wrest the back the reigns of her anger and focus on the fact that _Ethan admitted he cares._ Instead of some scene from a movie, where his grand declaration makes her stop in her tracks and kiss him senseless, she dodges the corner of the counter and jabs her finger in his chest, getting on her tiptoes to get in his face, her teeth bared as her frustration and hurt builds and builds and builds.

“Oh boo-hoo, you couldn’t save me from myself. Is that what you want? For me to feel sorry for _you_ because of _my_ failures? Because you decided to quit because of _yours_?” Sick satisfaction coils in her chest, sliding between her ribs, even as she hates herself for the cruelty, for being able to hold it back with Landry but not with Ethan, even as anger flushes his face, as he draws closer, almost nose-to-nose. “Sorry, but right now this is about _me_. And I’m not quitting, because _some_ asshole taught me not to. So I’m fighting back. With or without you.”

And her tone makes it very, very clear that she’s willing to leave him behind.

All the while, her finger had dug into his chest, and she hadn’t realized until he grabbed her wrist and pulled it away. “Don’t you think I’d help you if I could?” He crowds her against the kitchen island, the cool stone pressing against her back. Even with his anger, his rage and guilt and hurt, his grip on her wrist is gentle, his body pressing her’s against the counter yielding.

She could move if she wanted.

“Then why didn’t you?” She yells in his face, her voice echoing in the silence of his apartment.

His voice is just as loud, just as deafening, damning. “I already told Harper I wanted to testify for you and she _refused_. She says I’m too biased, and you know what? She’s goddamn right!” She blinks, all the surprise she’ll show. “So stop asking. I don’t work there, and soon neither will you.”

Harper scoffs. “Oh, so you think dropping some bomb that the chief knows about, about _whatever_ we are that you can start insulting me? Can push _your_ hopelessness on _my_ career?” She pushes his chest with her free hand, but makes no move to free her other from his grip, knowing he noticed. Still he doesn’t move, other than to grab her other wrist. Just stares down at her, jaw cocked even as she glares at him. “Just because you’re the _great_ Ethan Ramsey does _not_ mean that what you say goes. And, just in case you forgot, you’re not my fucking boss anymore!”

The fire, the anger, drains from his face, his body. His thumb brushes her wrist once, twice. “I didn’t forget.” He says, all too softly.

She’s struck dumb by the changing tides, the shift in his tone. “What?”

“From the moment I handed Emery my badge,” he breathes, and it’s then that she realizes she’s not. “The only thing I could think about was that I’m not your boss anymore.”

Harper’s suddenly acutely aware of every point his body touches hers. His grip on her wrists, his chest against hers, their knees knocking awkwardly.

She holds his gaze unflinchingly, waits for...something. She doesn’t know what. He shifts his hand, their palms aligning, and when she tentatively spreads her fingers, invites him to thread his through and he _does_ , she realizes what she was waiting for.

Neither of them quite know who moved first, but one second they’re staring each other down and the next he’s cradling her face in his hands like she’s the most precious thing in the world, and though she can feel the passion, the desire, the _fire_ behind his kiss, he’s heartbreakingly gentle with each pass of his lips.

Her hands slid into his hair, pulls him closer. His leg slips between her thighs, his hips pushing her against the edge of the counter, harder, now, than when they’d been arguing. She fights the urge to grind against his thigh, but when his hand drops to her waist to _encourage_ the movement, well, who was she to deny him?

But even so, even as her dress rides up her thighs and Ethan slips his tongue in her mouth, even as she presses her chest to his, desperate to feel every inch of him against her...she has to pause, has to pull away enough to breath, to look up at him, at his lust-darkened eyes and the flush high in his cheekbones that has nothing to do with anger and _everything_ to do with the steady hardness pressing incessantly against her belly.

There’s so much left unsaid, so much they still need to work through, even if she’d rather pull out her own hair than veer them off this path.

She untangles her fingers from his hair, rests her hands against his chest and feels the thundering beat of his heart. He draws back immediately, the hand that had been tenderly cradling her jaw now on her shoulder, the other still upon the curve of her waist. Harper meets his questioning gaze unflinchingly, but her voice is a mere whisper as she says, “I need to know that you’re not going to regret this.”

Ethan’s quiet for a moment, blue eyes studying her face. “Will _you?_ Regret it?”

“No.” She says. “But I’ve never had reservations about this, about...us. You have, and quite a lot, if I’m remembering correctly.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a humorless smile. “That was before.”

“Before what?” She asks, that fire from earlier flickering beneath the surface of her skin. “Before you quit? Before I effectively tanked my career? Ethan, I _know_ you, and something as trivial as a job isn’t going to change your personal ethics _that_ much. You still see yourself as,” she hesitates, doesn’t want to say something damning like _mentor_ or _boss_ , “as _not quite_ my equal and…” They have always toed the thin line between joke and barb, truth and lie. They’ve always called each other on their shit, never let the other get away with anything, and yet she still pauses at the words that crowd against her teeth. But she’s been swallowing her thoughts for days, weeks. She’s so full of words unsaid that she couldn’t stop herself from this if she tried. “I don’t want to be the reason you hate yourself.”

He blinks in surprise, but keeps his face otherwise carefully blank, in that way that he does to purposely unsettle her, unsettle the more ballsy interns that tried to get a rise out of him.

But she’s not an intern anymore, and he’s never had that effect on her in the first place.

“What’re you asking?” He dodges the last bit, unsurprisingly.

“I’m _asking_ if this is your way of putting the final nail in your own coffin.” She all but seethes, pressing the issue, angry at Ethan for being so blasé—as if he really didn’t know what she was getting at. Angry at herself for the telltale prickle of tears burning behind her eyes.

His hand tightens at her waist, long dexterous fingers flexing as he searches for the words. He looks her in the eye as he says, “This has nothing to do with my career.”

Harper draws up short, anger sputtering in surprise, but she doesn’t let the flame die, scared to let it go in fear of letting something much more destructive take its place.

“Because you’re so set on throwing it away?” She grits her teeth, pokes her finger into his chest again, tries to hone that anger into something useful before it eats her alive. “I can only be so complicit in your self-destructive tendencies. You want to lock yourself in your apartment and wallow in scotch and self-pity? Fine. But I won’t let you…” She shakes her head as she looks for the words, her tongue a dead weight in mouth as she tries to avoid saying _“use me”._ Harper swallows, wets her kiss-swollen lips and tries to pretend she didn’t notice him following the movement.

“You won’t let me what, Harper?” He says, oh so gentle. She curses internally as she feels the tears well in her eyes, her fire sizzle out as they roll down her face. He could always read her so easily. His hand slides up the slope of her neck to cradle her jaw, the heat of his skin warming her bones, gooseflesh coming alive down her spine.

She shakes her head. “Look, I–” It dawns on her what she’s trying to say, and her resolve crumbles. She drops her gaze from his eyes to his chest, stares at the knit of his cardigan like it could give her strength. She feels small, dwarfed by her feelings. “I... _care_ about you, Ethan. And I’m not just going to let you, let _this_ happen and have you regret it and, and _push_ me away again.” Her fingers curl against his chest, fists the fabric of his shirt in her hands to try and stop them from shaking as he carefully cradles her face.

Ethan tilts her face up, forces her to look at him. He’s got that same soft look in his eye that he’s usually so careful to hide, the one she always catches anyway when he thinks she’s not looking. “The only thing I regret,” he says, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, “is breaking your trust in me, and making you cry.” Of course, she feels the protest rise in her chest, the need to be contrary, to wipe away her tears like they were never there and say something witty to distract from her weakness. Instead, she makes a soft, pathetic noise in the back of her throat as he kisses the apple of one cheek, whispers, “I won’t push you away again.” He kisses the other, her eyelashes tickling his lips. “I don’t regret _anything_ about us.”

His nose nudges hers, lips brushing lips.

She opens her eyes, meets his gaze.

“I’m not going anywhere. You _have_ me.”

The kiss reminds her of another, not too long ago, where his the salt of _his_ tears had wet her lips, burned across her tongue. That kiss, however, was much different from this.

 _That_ kiss, he was grieving, set on quitting; she can see it now for the goodbye that it had been, not only to her but to his job, his ambition, his self-confidence. _That_ kiss, he had taken her by surprise, cupped her jaw in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers while her arms were still around him from their hug. She remembers the way his shuddering breath had echoed in that empty wing as the chief wheeled Naveen away, the way the moisture from his tears turned cold against her throat as he walked away from her without looking back.

 _This_ kiss, he cups her jaw again, and she feels her arms slip around his torso to pull him closer, but it isn’t anywhere close to a goodbye. It’s more like a... _hello_ , _I missed you, I’m sorry, please don’t leave._ Her hand slides beneath his shirt, presses against the warm skin of his back as his own sinks into her hair. He crowds her against the counter, and his hands slide down the curves of her body to cup her ass, the skirt of her dress riding up. She hums against his mouth, the warmth of his skin on hers sending delighted shivers up her spine.

“I want you,” He murmurs against her mouth, his voice husky but his eyes soft. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you.”

Despite the heat still between them, she presses a gentle hand to his cheek, kisses each corner of his mouth with such tenderness that her own hands shake. “You have me,” She says, echoing his own words. “I’m not going anywhere.” A contented growl rumbles in his chest, and she can _feel_ all the words unsaid as he kisses her again and again.

When he lifts her, hands cradling her thighs with ease, she can’t help her startled squeal, her legs hooking around his hips on instinct. She can’t tell if it’s the way he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth or how the new position allows his desire to press achingly against her core that makes her moan with abandon, but she doesn’t quite have the mind to care. Harper rolls her hips, trails searing kisses across his jaw and down his neck, pressing almost-bites to any inch of skin she can reach as he takes them back to his bedroom.

Her fingers fumble at the buttons of his cardigan, overeager and trembling with anticipation, but she quickly abandons the idea of salvaging his clothes and her dignity, patience long gone as she tugs both shirts up and over his head. Her hands glide down the taut muscle of his biceps, her fingers find the dimples in his shoulder blades—the points at which his muscles bunch and flex, made more pronounced by her weight in his arms. She digs her nails in, testing the waters (and maybe to banish the delirious little voice telling her this isn’t real) and is pleased at the half-aborted thrust he rewards her with, just before he deposits her on the bed.

Ethan pauses, as if admiring the view, so she smiles up at him, batting her lashes as she raises her arms above her head, inviting him to take off her dress. He huffs a laugh, his smile soft and affectionate as he leans down and bunches the fabric at her hips in his hands, drawing up her body slowly, so he can snag another kiss before pulling it over her head. He tosses it over his shoulder before attacking her own with lips and tongue and teeth, pressing her back against the mattress, marking a trail up the curve of her neck to the sensitive skin just beneath her ear.

She giggles, squirms under his ministrations, a shiver racing up her spine. “Your stubble tickles.”

He draws back, rubbing his chin with a rueful smile. “I should shave.”

Harper lets out an affronted gasp, “Don’t you _dare._ ” She reaches up to scratch her nails gently through his stubble, sinks her fingers in his hair. “I like it.”

He merely grins in response, drops his head to press another scratchy kiss beneath her ear, makes a point to drag his stubble against her skin as he mouths against the tops of her breasts, tongue trailing against the delicate lacing at the top of her bra. Ethan rises, captures her lips in a searing kiss, though their smiles quickly allow it to fall apart.

She cocks her head, grins mischievously as he drags a thumb along the band of her panties. “What’re you planning to do with me, now that those pesky clothes are out of the way?”

The same thumb that had followed the line of her underwear now traces her cheekbone, as if he can’t touch her enough, comes to a rest on her lips. She catches it between her teeth, feels the thrill resonate deep in her gut by the hungry way he looks at her. “What do you _want_ me to do with you, Harper?”

She considers just dragging him down atop her, feels the wanting, empty ache between her thighs that makes her want to _beg_ to be filled, but she’s been waiting months for this. They’ll have all the time in the world for quickies later, probably, but right now?

Her eyes land on the large windows that make up the far wall of his bedroom, feels that same brand of excitement begin to wind in her belly that she felt that night in Miami, pressing Ethan against the balcony railing as she kissed him, wholly uncaring of who might see. He follows her gaze, and there’s a knowing smile on his lips as she says, “Bring me to the window and show me the view.”

He stands and offers his hand—ever the gentleman—and she takes it, mirroring his grin as she slides off the bed, trails after him to the high window above the bay. He tugs on her hand, pulling her in front of him so he can wrap his arms around her waist, bare chest pressed against her back.

“How do you like it?” Ethan asks, breath rustling the hair by her ear. Goosebumps prickle down her arms, her nipples hard and sensitive against the cups of her bra. His fingers stroke her ribs, her hip, tantalizingly.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes, slides back half a step to nestle her hips more firmly into the cradle of his own, delighting in the feeling of his hardness against the cleft of her ass.

He lowers his lips to the curve of her neck, trailing kisses up and up, catching her earlobe between his lips. His teeth nibble against sensitive flesh before he releases to murmur, “It's the best I’ve seen it.” She meets his eyes in the reflection of the window, knows he couldn’t care less about the view.

Ethan’s hand slides up the expanse of her torso, and palms her breast in his hand briefly before slipping nimble fingers beneath her bra, expertly rolling a nipple between his fingers.

Harper hums appreciatively, her heart hammering against her ribs as her head lolls against his shoulder. “Mmm...don’t stop.” He scrapes his teeth on her neck, chuckles darkly at the way she slowly rolls her hips in time to the movement of his fingers. _So responsive_.

“I don’t want to.” He sinks his teeth into her skin, at the juncture where her shoulder meets her neck. Soothes the bite with his tongue as she lets out a heady, choked-off little moan. Ethan hides his smile in her hair, glad to have been proven right about his little pet-theory. “I knew if we ever crossed this line, I’d never be able to come back from the edge.”

Whatever smart-mouthed quip she undoubtedly had dies on her tongue as he slips his hand in her panties, brushes a knuckle down the length of her slit, draws it back up to nudge at her clit. Her stuttered sigh ghosts across his jaw, her hips rocking eagerly against his hand as he slips a finger into her dripping heat. She bites her lip, eyes half-lidded. Ethan drags his tongue across her skin, slips a second finger past her entrance, his cock twitches in his pants as he curls his fingers, her body shuddering in pleasure.

Before too long, he can’t take it anymore. He slips his hands out of her underwear, some small part of him preening at the disgruntled sound of protest that she makes at the loss of contact. He pulls back, puts pressure on her hips to spin her around. He nudges her, encouraging her to lean against the window, and he drops to his knees before her. He chances a glance up the length of her body, watches the rise and fall of her breasts with every breath, the way she traps her full bottom lip between her teeth as she stares at him with dark, feverish eyes.

The kisses he trails up the inside of her thighs are reverent, his hands sliding up the length of her legs are worshipping, and the way he drags his tongue along the lines of her panties, where fabric meets skin, should be prayer in itself. He holds her gaze as he draws her panties down her legs, shifts her leg to rest over his shoulder, opens her in a way that makes her thighs twitch in an obvious act of restraint.

He even keeps her gaze as he kisses a line up the inside of her thigh, even as he seals his mouth over her cunt. She gasps, his tongue parting her lips, swirls around that bundle of nerves at her apex. Ethan slips his fingers back into her heat; Harper tangles her fingers in her own hair, mouth open in high, keening pants as she holds his stare without wavering. Expletives fall past her lips the closer she gets to the edge, the hand in her hair tugs harder, her chest rising faster until she goes tumbling over the edge, their gaze finally breaking, her shoulders pressed against the glass as she thrusts her hips against his mouth needily.

Ethan works his mouth against her as she comes down from her high, until she presses her palm against his forehead to push him away with a tired laugh. Instead, she reaches down to the hand he still has braced on her ass and laces her fingers with his, threads the fingers of the other into his hair to drag him up to meet her mouth. If his knees crack as he stands, she doesn’t mention it...mostly because hers pop twice as loud on a good day.

Harper smiles into the kiss, half-paying attention as she pulls him toward the bed while still making a point to lap her own juices off his chin. The edge of the mattress brushes the backs of her knees, but Ethan stops her before she has the chance to send them tumbling onto it. She meets his eyes, sees the question there, the chance to let her back out, to decide if this, if _he_ is still what she wants. She gives him a reassuring grin, her hands sneaking behind her back with practiced ease to unlatch her bra, and she lets it slide down her arms and onto the floor at their feet. Then, she puts her hands on his hips, slides them forward to work at the button of his pants; she rises on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips, breath hitching in her chest as he cups a breast in his hand, thumb rolling over her nipple as she pushes his pants and underwear both to the floor.

He wraps an arm around her waist, presses his hand to her lower-back, supports her weight as he lowers the both of them down onto the bed. She threads her fingers into his hair, sucks at the skin just beneath his ear, whispers, “I want to remember every moment of this.”

“I would say the same,” he murmurs, lips brushing her cheek softly, his hair falling and curling over his forehead, “but how could I ever forget?”

Harper laughs despite herself, despite his erection pressing hot and heavy against her hip, places her hand on either side of his face so she can look at him, “I’m sorry, but you’re _such_ a dork.”

He scowls, but it doesn’t last, quickly breaking into a grin like sunshine through the clouds, and he presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. “You love it.”

She hums noncommittally, squirming as he scrapes his stubble against her neck, across her chest as he peppers her skin with kisses. She runs her fingers through his hair as he drops his mouth to her breast, swirls his tongue around a nipple. Her back arches into the sensation, eyelashes fluttering as he pinches the other between his thumb and forefinger. He nips at her ribs, drags his tongue down the line of her sternum, sucks a faint mark at her hip.

Harper sighs his name, digs her nails into his shoulder, beckons him back up to her even as he greets her slit with a swipe of his tongue. He kisses his way back up her body, a wolfish grin curling his lips as she says, “I _want_ you.”

He tucks his hand under her ass, easily lifts her up to better settle her against the pillows. “You _have_ me.” He reminds her, kneading the meat of her behind in his hand. Ethan kisses her jaw, her chin, each of her cheeks, her smiling lips. “I want this to be as special as you are.” She grins, and he holds up a chastising finger. “ _Don’t_ call me cheesy.” Her lips thin as she presses them together, the flush in her cheeks darkening with delight as he takes her hands in his own and twines their fingers together. She kisses his knuckles in apology.

Ethan draws away long enough to dig into his nightstand, the condom’s wrapper crinkling in his teeth as he tears it open. Harper stretches her hands over her head, parts her legs a little wider, smiling when the movement draws his attention. She reaches down a hand, skims her palm up the subtle muscle of his thigh, the soft planes of his belly, trails her nails through the line of hair that falls from his navel down to his groin. Their hands bump as he rolls the condom on, and they share a small smile. Harper takes his hand and pulls him back down atop her, wraps her legs around his hips to keep him close as he glides his length against her slit, nudging the head of his cock against her clit as he coats himself in her wet.

He rests his forehead against hers, one hand tangled in hers as the other helps him align with her entrance. Harper’s breath catches in her chest as he slowly slides in, eyelashes fluttering, but she kisses him without hesitation as he presses his lips to hers, rocking his hips slowly as she takes a moment to adjust. She slips her tongue in his mouth, her shallow breaths fanning across his cheek, her breasts brushing his chest with each breath.

Eventually, he feels her fully relax beneath him; the muscles in her thighs quivering slightly as she gives a tentative roll of her hips, her heel digging into his ass to spur him into movement. He tucks his free hand against her tailbone, groans as she cants her hips and lets him slide fully into her heat. She gasps by his ear, nips his earlobe. “Oh god,” she sighs, dragging her teeth down the line of his jaw, “ _Ethan_.”

His name on her lips is nearly enough to make him come undone, but by some miracle of self-control, he gets his act together enough to start a rhythm, rolling his hips in a way that lets him grind against her clit with every thrust. The hand not holding his slides into his hair, her nails pricking his scalp, but it only makes his moan deepen. His arm slides around her waist, holding her close, and she uses the grip on his hair to guide his mouth to hers. The kiss is sloppy, unrefined, full of clacking teeth and too much tongue, but neither of them have the mind to care; it’s the sentiment that matters.

It doesn’t take long for Harper’s breathing to catch and stutter, the once fluid roll of her hips and flexing of her thighs falling out of sync. “Ethan,” she breathes, her lips brushing his cheek, “I’m close—” He sucks on her bottom lip, bites gently on the swollen flesh as her hands grip him tighter, biting crescent moons into the skin of his knuckles.

He raises up on his knees, gripping her hip as he thrusts harder, faster. Her hand drops to their joining, fingers circling her clit, her eyes fighting to stay open as she teeters on the edge. “ _Fuck._ ” She hisses, body going taut as she cums, thighs trembling, her cunt like a vice as she rides the waves of her pleasure. He pins her wrist against her body, refuses to allow her to cover her mouth, to muffle her moans as his thumb takes over on her sensitive clit.

Even as he chases his own release, cock dragging against her fluttering insides, he can’t help but think she’s beautiful; red hair fanned on the pillows around her head like a halo, warm brown skin flushed from the tops of her breasts to her high cheekbones, flecked with so many freckles that it’d take a lifetime for him to kiss them all, but _god_ if he wasn’t up to the challenge.

Ethan falls forward, buries his face in the crook of her neck, pressing almost-bites to her skin, her hand snaking behind him to grip his ass, encouraging every roll of his hips. She presses her lips to his ear, nibbles at the shell before whispering, “ _Cum for me._ ”

And, well, who is he to deny her _anything?_

His hips jerk unevenly as he tumbles over the edge, Harper’s lips planting kisses across his shoulder, mumbling sweet nothings in his ear until he stills. He takes a moment to catch his breath, not yet willing to pull away. Harper turns her head, slips a hand in his hair to beckon him up so she can capture his lips in a kiss. It’s soft and slow and sweet, no longer frantic and fueled by pent-up lust, no longer tinged by sadness or fear or restraint.

It’s their first kiss where they’re nothing more than Ethan and Harper. Nothing more than two people in... _like,_ with each other.

Not love, not yet.

If for no other reason than they’re both too emotionally stunted to admit it.

After a moment, Ethan slides out of her, smiling softly at the little shudder that runs down her spine at the sudden emptiness. He rolls out of bed, disposes the condom in trash beside the nightstand, and when he turns back, Harper’s already watching him, stretched luxuriously with her hands above her head, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. She reaches out a hand, beckoning him to come back to her, and he takes it, brushing his lips across her knuckles, the inside of her wrist, up and up and up until he’s half-knelt over her, pressing kisses to her jaw, her mouth.

He flops onto his back, tugs her against his side, unable to help his smile when she snuggles close, her head on his shoulder, hooking a leg over his hip. He rests a hand on her thigh, let’s the other tangle in her hair. He presses a kiss to her forehead. She presses a kiss to his chest, right above his heart.

They lie there in silence for a long moment, naked as can be, Harper’s hand splayed over his ribs, rising and falling with each breath. She could swear she could hear the gears in his head turning, could hear him overthinking.

She’s tempted to leave it be, if only to save this bubble of peace, but she was never one to back down from anything, especially not Ethan.

She shifts, rests her chin on her hand as she looks up at him. Harper studies his face for a beat; the strong line of his jaw, the ridge of his nose, the curve of his lips, and his eyes. So blue and bright, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers in the world. “What’s wrong?” Her voice is soft, so quiet she’s afraid she didn’t actually say anything at all. “Do you think it was a mistake?”

His eyes snap to hers, alarm and guilt, that damn guilt, warring on his features. “No.” So sure. He almost sounds like the man he used to be, before things got personal and Naveen got sick. “How could I?” He smooths his hand along her thigh, his fingers in her hair tightening a fraction, as if reassuring her that he couldn’t regret this. “But...but time will tell. Because the truth is, I can’t help but feel like I failed you.”

“How do you mean?” She props herself up on her elbow so she can see his face better.

He sighs, and she takes his hand off her thigh, twining their fingers together. “When I first read your application to Edenbrook, I saw the most _incredible_ potential. And then when I met you…”

“I lived up to the hype?” Harper dares to joke, tone pointedly light. He rewards her with a small smile.

“Yes, actually. I knew I’d been right. I knew you had it in you to be a brilliant doctor, if you just had someone to push you and challenge you.” His smile drops, his eyes fall to their connected hands. He brushes his thumb across her knuckles. “The way Naveen did for me.” She was half-tempted to make a joke about how she hoped he and Naveen had never had a relationship like theirs, but she can see the clouds gathering behind Ethan’s eyes, that little line between his brows that gets so pronounced when he’s angry. “But I let you down. I tried not to let myself fall for you…” He sighs, frustrated, and untangles their hands so he can rub at his eyes.

As much as she wants to let her foolhardy little heart latch onto his admission, she doesn’t let it.

At least, not right now.

“You didn’t let me down.” And she means it. Come what may, she would never blame Ethan for what might happen.

He rests his hand on his forehead, peers at her from beneath heavy lids. “I did. I wanted to make you the best doctor you could be–”

Harper silences him with a kiss, her hand cradling his jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone, willing all of her affection to soak into his skin, his bones, his heart.

“You did. No matter what happens...you did.” She keeps her hand on his cheek. Makes him hold her stare until he nods.

She drops her head back onto his shoulder as he twines their fingers together again. He presses his nose to the crown of her head, lips pressed against her skin in an almost-kiss. It’s quiet for another long moment, the rumble of distant thunder lighting up the sky beyond the city limits, the gathering clouds glowing and casting strange reflections on the windows.

When Ethan finally speaks, she’s half-asleep, staring out at the bustling city while his thumb traces odd patterns against the back of her hand. His lips brush her skin with every word, spoken softly, like saying them too loud would shatter them. Or her.

“Are you ready for the hearing?”

She laughs softly, shrugs her shoulders. “I have no idea.” Just thinking about what’s to come makes her want to scream and cry and maybe just walk into the ocean, but all she can do is wait. And that’s the hardest part. She bites her lip, stares at their clasped hands. “Will you be there? Even if you can’t testify?”

If the question throws him off, he doesn’t show it. “Do you want me there?”

“Yes.” No question. If he were there, they could fire her and revoke her license, but she’d be able to survive it.

He cranes his head back, looks her in the face. That softness is back in his eyes, the one that makes her stomach erupt in butterflies and her heart start skipping beats. “Then I’ll be there.”

She kisses him. Partly because she _can_ and she’s not one to waste an opportunity. Partly because she can’t help herself, and she’s of the humble opinion that Ethan Ramsey deserves more kisses in his life.

He rests his forehead against hers, breathes her in like she’s more important than oxygen. He squeezes her hand, knots his fingers in her hair. “Just...don’t give up. Don’t you _dare_ give up.”

“Only if you don’t.” Because she was stubborn, and a colossal pain in his ass, and she would be _damned_ is she was going to let him live like this. She’d meant it when she said she’d only let his pity party go on for so long. “I won’t give up. But you can’t either.”

Ethan stares at her in that way he does. The way he used to stare at tricky patients, at Naveen. Like he was taking her apart piece by piece to see how she worked before putting her back together again. Like he’d stared at her that day in the coffee shop.

And where that stare used to make her squirm in her seat, she now faces it head on, stares at him just as hard.

When he seems satisfied by whatever he finds, he nods almost imperceptibly. “Okay.”

And that’s it.

She nods. “Okay.”

And just like that, it’s over.

She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, shifts her body so he knows she’s getting up. Harper rolls out of bed, ignores the chill that races up her spine from the cold wood floors, and she _especially_ ignores the way he watches with interest when her nipples peak in the chill. She extends her hand, beckons him to follow her up. “Now, would you like to shower with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> the only question now is,,,,,do I write a second chapter with some good old fashioned shower sex and the morning after? [eyes emoji]


End file.
